


private float limit;

by tatersalad5001



Series: return false; [7]
Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Bullying, Emotional Hurt, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Gen, Genocide Frisk, Mental Breakdown, Mild Language, POV Second Person, Pacifist Chara, Post-Undertale Soulless Pacifist Route, Reader Is Chara
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-01-08
Packaged: 2018-09-15 17:38:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9248639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatersalad5001/pseuds/tatersalad5001
Summary: Frisk learns a bit about loving others. Chara learns a bit about loving themself. It's a gradual process. Sucks that it has to come out of the aftermath of crappy friends. It hurts.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Close to home. Give your demons different faces and make them friends instead of family and call it a day. Barely tries to pretend it's not a vent fic. It kind of is. Sorry.
> 
> This wasn't planned to happen in this series, but the series is self-indulgent anyway, so it works, might as well. I always saw Frisk as more self confident and Chara as more insecure and self loathing, and it kinda sucks I'm more like Chara. Being insecure sucks. But they were always meant to work towards this kind of relationship, of kind of helping each other along the way. So it works out. This might not take place directly after truereset, stuff might happen between this and then or whatever. dunno man
> 
> I have depression and anxiety

Garbage.

Literal human garbage.

What the fuck are you doing? You're horrible. You're always angry. You're really bad at everything. Not just bad; the worst. You're always complaining about some shit or the other. Half of it's probably not even real. You're annoying and you can't remember anything and you'll never be good enough.

Their words only confirm it as they slice through you. It's a frequent occurrence now. And you hate it. You hate it.

That hate's only more proof of how awful you are.

Tears fill your eyes and your hearts sinks. You ask them to stop. You tell them they're hurting your feelings. Because despite everything, despite who you are, you give a damn about how you feel. Somehow.

It only gets worse. They laugh, and turn the tide and turn you into the bad guy in the story, again, because you are.

You're young. You don't even realize what you're feeling. Why this upsets you the way it does. Well, no, you know that their words hurt you, but the connection isn't quite there. You don't connect their words to your own self loathing and hatred, don't see how the negative feelings feed on those words. You barely notice how you feel about yourself, not yet. It won't come back to haunt you for awhile, because this is only the beginning. But they're saying bad things about you and you feel bad things about yourself and it hurts and you're sinking and the tears grow stronger and you lose it.

You lose yourself, lose control. You lose rationality for one second, and throw your game controller to the floor, as hard as you can. You stare at that spot on the floor. It hurts.

They stare at you, bewildered, unable to connect their actions to reactions. They yell at you because your controller landed near someone's feet, it could've hit them, but it didn't. You had just enough control to land it exactly where you wanted. You knew it wouldn't hurt anyone. They're mad, and you're mad, and no one realizes what they're doing to you. But you hurt and you're barely there anymore and you leave.

You go to a room where you're alone, where no one can bother you or insult you anymore. You sob and cry it out. You gasp for breath constantly. You hurt.

You're not alone. The kid, the ghost of their own determination, followed you up here. They sit next to you, looking confused.

You stare at each other.

You don't fight back, the kid comments to you.

You're still gasping for breath and sobbing and angry but you stare at them, trying to ground yourself in the conversation. Well, the one-sided conversation. You're not quite able to talk yet. But the kid did wait awhile before speaking up, and you're glad on both accounts. Glad that they waited, and glad that they're here and talking to you. You need someone to talk to, who won't hurt you, and it's weird that it's this violent child.

They tore you apart with every word, the kid says. They insulted you in every way anyone could think of. You barely even defended yourself.

"It only makes it worse," you whisper.

Fight back.

"Can't," you mumble. "Hurts too much."

Your name is Chara Dreemurr. You're 14 years old, but you inhabit the 11 year old body of the kid you're talking to. It's been awhile since you destroyed the barrier, not a year yet though. You live with your mom on the surface.

It's been years since you were last in a human school. Three, in years you were conscious for. Mom tried to teach you what she could while you both lived Underground. She was amazing and smart and you refused to discredit her. But it was hard to say if her schooling cut it, with the differences between humans and monsters in every way. You needed catching up.

And catch up you did. You'd already been ahead of where the kid had been in their schooling, since you both fell at the same age and all. You didn't really want to stay behind with everyone the kid's age, because you were older and ahead anyway. So you caught up. It wasn't easy, but it helped that you were closer than everyone thought you were. Mostly, you were just behind on history and science. When you caught up, you were able to join your peers at the latter half of eighth grade.

It wasn't easy. Didn't help that you looked way younger than everyone. But you were happy to be caught up, so you didn't care. You even made some friends in your grade, who you could hang out and play video games with and stuff.

Yeah right. Some friends. Who says they care about you and then turns around and insults you in the same breath? You wouldn't see this for a long time. You wouldn't realize just how bad this was fucking you up for a long time.

Just fight them back, the kid insists. Scream, yell, punch, kick, however you want to do it.

"They'll get mad," you tell them.

Who the hell cares?? The kid throws their hands up in the air. Since when did their happiness or whatever matter more than yours? Make them suffer like you have. Pay back.

"No," you say. "Can't. Don't want to." You don't even think to point out their language. You don't care. Fuck, you're angry and upset and distraught and exhausted. You don't care about that.

Why not???

"They don't know what they're doing," you say. "They don't know it hurts. They think it's just a joke because they say it is. They think I'm overreacting or something."

Tell them.

"They don't take me seriously. They never fucking have. They'll laugh at me and nothing will happen."

Who cares if they know it then? Fucking let them have it. They deserve it.

"No," you mumble. "They don't. They're my friends and I won't hurt them."

Your friends??? You let them walk all over you and treat you like garbage and you still care about them?

"Mmhm."

I don't get it. How you care about them. Or anyone, really.

The kid walks to the other side of the room, but stays close by. Their anger has been dampened by ignorance, curiosity, and confusion. You take a moment's break from your self pity to feel bad for them. They've never cared about anyone. You're not sure anyone's ever cared about them, either. They really don't know what it's like.

Then your breath hitches and your eyes sting and your brain is simultaneously screaming and empty, and it's time to return to the pity party. It hurts. The kid turns to look at you. Their face is blank. You don't see them.

"They don't take me seriously," you repeat to yourself, not really to them. "They'll just laugh at me."

The kid sits down, still looking at you. Their face is unreadable. You finally straight to breathe slower, taking deep breaths, on the road to recovery but still not there. Not even close.

"Doesn't matter. They're right."

Anger explodes back on their face. At you this time, instead of them.

What are you talking about?

"I'm always mad," you tell them. "I'm angry all the time and I'm never happy. I'm not a good person, good people aren't angry, and..."

No, they growl. You're only angry when they provoke you. They make you upset. You're really happy when they leave you alone. You're not an angry person. You're not doing anything wrong.

"And I'm really bad at everything. I'm the worst and I shouldn't bother trying."

Like hell you are. You were kicking their asses at Mario Kart half an hour ago, they just say that because they're sore losers, that's bullshit.

"I'm stupid and all I do is complain and I'm awful and I'm a bad person..."

That's all fucking false. Don't you dare say that about yourself. Don't you dare let them get to you.

You look up at them as they float towards you, getting in your face.

You're a good fucking person, they affirm to you. Don't let anyone tell you you're not.

"That can't be true." You sniff.

It is. You are.

You find it hard to believe. It's gonna take awhile for the words to sink in. You close your eyes and mumble out a quiet, "Thank you."


End file.
